While No One Watched
by Brightbear
Summary: Lives are still lived, even while no-one watches. Boromir's Story.
1. The Approach to Rivendell

WHILE NO-ONE WATCHED  
  
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, who was a magnificent author. This particular piece also owes a lot to Sean Bean's portrayal of Boromir. Is based mostly on the movie versions. Pg-13 for violence in later chapters.  
  
Autumn leaves fluttered down onto the road in an amber, afternoon sunlight. It was a light that seemed to creep over the hills and crawl from between the trees, rather than to shine freely from above. It was not cold and it was not winter but Boromir, son of Denethor, shivered within his tunic as his horse plodded up the winding path to Rivendell.  
The world seemed as if in a hazy, sleepy unreality. For a moment, Boromir fancied that the light was the same false security which lurked in his distant homeland of Gondor. If he gave in to the temptation and submitted to sleep, would this strange feeling be shattered by a harsh reality of shrieking orcs, gnashing teeth, clanging metal and the screams of dying men? Would he be once more in the fierce battle to retake Osgiliath? In truth, it had ended up as more of a city-wide brawl than a well co-ordinated battle but the day had still been won.  
For now this familiar world of violence and fear had been left behind him, at his father's command. At his father's command, he travelled to the Elven city of Rivendell to attend a Council Meeting. Boromir wished for his homeland bitterly. It was not the endless, bloody battle to defend their borders that Boromir missed but his people and his city. He thought of his dear brother, Faramir. Dear Faramir, who was his junior as a Captain as well as in years. He thought of his loyal troops, picturing their faces and summoning their names to his mind. While Faramir had intended to return to Ithilien, Boromir's men had been left behind to strengthen the garrison of Osgiliath. Boromir could still hear his own farewells, as if he had spoken them seconds ago rather than more than a month past.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"In my absence I'm trusting you with my very own company, Lieutenant Varancil," he had cautioned, spoiling his stern words with a wolfish smile. Boromir, dressed in travelling clothes for his imminent departure, had looked down from his horse at the aging Lieutenant. Boromir's second-in- command, Varancil was an unimaginative but solid leader. Well used to Boromir's ways, Varancil had grinnned toothily. "We will make good use of the time, my Lord," said Varancil heartily.  
His answering grin was no less wolfish but quite a sight more unsettling since Varancil was missing several of his teeth. "Mind you don't let the orcs come dancing in the moment I've left the city gates," continued Boromir teasingly. "You know well the ways of the men, my Lord," shot back Varancil.  
Boromir nodded approvingly at Varancil and gathered his horse's reins. Before Boromir could coax his horse forward, Varancil had seized the bridle of Boromir's horse and guided it around for him. Boromir was about to protest that he needed no nursemaid when he saw how tightly Varancil's hands gripped the bridle. His knuckles were white. If Varancil was distracted enough to risk angering Boromir by unneccessary attentions, he must be extremely worried indeed. Boromir could not bring himself to call Varancil on it so he indulged him instead and said nothing of it.  
Varancil paced beside Boromir's horse as they made their way through the pitted and scarred streets of Osgiliath. As Boromir and Varancil passed into the last courtyard before the gate, they both caught sight of a lone figure waiting for them. The expensive cloak but trim physique gave away the figure's identity as Captain Faramir himself.  
Perhaps without realising it, Varancil's hand gripped Boromir's reins again. Boromir found his own grip tightening, the leather twisting against his palm. He halted the horse and looked down at Varancil. Boromir was not quite sure at first how to ask what he wanted. He settled for echoing his earlier words. "In my absence, I'm trusting you with my very own," Boromir whispered hoarsely. Varancil looked up at Boromir, puzzled. Boromir flickered his glance to Faramir and then back to Varancil. Varancil's face settled into understanding. "I will not fail you, my Lord," Varancil promised solemnly. "And I will not fail him."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Boromir had to admit that he not only feared for Faramir's safety but also for Faramir's competence. Faramir's heart could not be doubted but rarely had so important a task been left to him before. What if Mordor made another attempt to take Osgiliath or Ithilien while Boromir was not there to guide him? Even if Faramir finally proved himself, the enemy was strong. Boromir could not keep his thoughts from his brother for very long.  
On the other hand, Boromir did not miss his father's company nearly so very much. Although Boromir would freely admit that he loved Denethor, the strain of constantly placating and compromising in family arguments was draining. It was a relief to be released from that burden. It was only a slight twinge of guilt that he felt at leaving Faramir to deal with their father alone.  
Instead, Boromir travelled to a distant outpost of Elves to seek counsel. The Elves, who had withdrawn their people and their protection into the east, leaving Gondor to bear the brunt of Mordor's malice. Whispers and rumours had reached Boromir that the Elves were leaving Middle- Earth. They were abandoning what Boromir's men were still dying to defend. He did not look forward to sharing the company of elves, who had always looked down their noses at him whenever he dared cross their paths.  
Now as his horse plodded up the path, Boromir could feel the eyes of the elves upon him. He scanned the trees along the path but not even his sharp eyes could catch those that were watching him. Spying. As if they mistrusted Boromir's presence when it was they who had invited him in the first place. "Very well," Boromir thought to himself. "I am not welcome but I neither will I turn away. I am here so that Gondor and the deeds of it's soldiers are not forgotten. And they shall not be forgotten." With that resolution, Boromir sat taller in his saddle and nudged his horse into a trot.  
So it was that Boromir passed beneath the archway feeling alone and unwelcome. He searched with his eyes again but it seemed none of the Elves would deign to come out and greet him. No-one was even making a pretence at watching his arrival, despite the fact that it had taken him almost a solid month of riding to reach Rivendell. No-one was even watching.  
Boromir frowned sullenly at the buildings around him. Despite his foul mood, he found the hazy beauty of the buildings drew his eyes upwards. There, on the balcony. There was somebody watching. A tall grey figure with a long beard. Mithrandir, the wizard also known as Gandalf, was watching Boromir arrive.  
What was Boromir to make of Mithrandir's presence? He had not expected the wizard to be here. What would Mithrandir make of Boromir? Denethor had little time for the grey pilgrim, while Faramir trailed in his wake like a shadow. Mithrandir seemed to nurture Faramir, so while it angered Denethor, Boromir was secretly glad that the wizard had taken the boy under his wing. So whenever Faramir was near Mithrandir, Boromir deliberately withdrew since he knew that many a time he had unintentionally stolen the attention that Faramir was due. Whenever Denethor was near, Boromir did not see a need to needlessly antagonise his father by being more than polite to Mithrandir.  
So Mithrandir had few words for Boromir and Boromir had few to give in return. Now they would meet again, without brother, father or other cares to command Boromir's behaviour or attention. Except for Boromir's duty to Gondor and he doubted that Mithrandir could support anything that would risk Gondor.  
As Boromir halted his horse at the steps to the house, Mithrandir turned away from the balcony. The Elves finally descended from on high to acknowledge Boromir's presence. They gave directions in beautiful, fair voices then turned and led the way without a second glance. And so Boromir, son of Denethor, entered Rivendell that is also known as Imladris and no- one cared enough to watch.  
  
* * * 


	2. Rivendell's Halls

WHILE NO-ONE WATCHED

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, who was a magnificent author. This particular piece also owes a lot to Sean Bean's portrayal of Boromir. Is based mostly on the movie versions.

Pg-13 for violence in later chapters.

Boromir entered Rivendell's halls. If not for his guide and the occasional haughty bystander, the place would have seemed deserted. It was too empty, too open and the light was still a soft, sleepy haze. The place seemed strange and unreal after so many nights spent sleeping under the stars by the blazing warmth of a campfire.

The walls were fair and skillfully crafted, adorned with exquisitely fine weaponry and masterful tapestries. While a part of Boromir was awed by the skill of the Elven smiths, still another part of him balked at the idea of such flimsiness in true battle-ready weapons. No blade of Gondor had such finely worked adornments but then, thought Boromir proudly, the blades of Gondor were made for battle. Most of them had seen far too much battle and blood in recent times.

As thoughts of his beseiged homeland came to him, he found himself gripping the pommel of his sword tightly. If the elf had noticed, he made no comment. Boromir forced himself to relax. It would not do for the Steward's heir to behave as if he feared attack from his hosts. He truly expected scorn from his elven hosts (his guide had not yet disappointed him) but he just as truly felt physically safe within their walls. Strange that in Gondor's many battles there had been many times when he had felt his life in inescapable peril but his pride had always been comfortable and confident. Now the situation was reversed and he wasn't sure that he liked it.

His guide led him up a flight of stairs before they reached a guest room.

"This room is for you," said the elf archly.

He looked very distastefully at Boromir's dusty attire and equipment. Boromir recieved the very distinct impression that the elf was more concerned for the tidiness of the room than the comfort of his guest. Boromir attempted to mirror the elf's haughty expression but he suspected he only appeared sullen.

"Your timing is fortunate," intoned the elf, not deigning to notice Boromir's hostility. "A meal will be served in two hours time," continued the elf. "A servant will be sent to collect you."

The elf seemed to have decided an agenda for Boromir but Boromir refused to be given orders.

"And if I wish to take some exercise?" asked Boromir mildly.

As he had hoped, the elf looked faintly annoyed.

"You do not wish to rest after your long journey?" prompted the elf, in a tone that suggested he thought Boromir was simply being foolish and stubborn.

Boromir, who knew he was simply being foolish and stubborn, smiled jovially at the elf.

"A walk will do me good after so many days on horseback," he said confidently.

The elf hesitated, as if attempting to summon to mind the words that would change Boromir's mind. Apparently unable to find them, he acquiesced. The elf nodded as if it were a great trouble to him personally (Boromir hoped it was).

"There is a gallery down the west end of the corridor - if you have a taste for artwork," suggested the elf, sounding as if he believed Boromir too crude to appreciate fine culture.

Boromir couldn't help but feel a surge of guilt at that accusation, aware that it was a little too close to the truth for comfort. Faramir was the lover of art and culture, Faramir would have delighted in a visit to the elves. Faramir had even volunteered to go but their father, Lord Denethor, would not permit it.

* * *

Faramir had a taste for elvish tongues and the ancient tales of Númenor and its Kings. Faramir was a shy child, coddled by the servants of the Steward, his father. At times even Boromir had found himself lulled into the false belief that Faramir was harmless and bereft of a will of his own. Deny Faramir something he truly desired, however, and Faramir was inflamed with a stubbornness and a manipulative cunning that resembled their father all too well.

At the time Osgiliath was still held by Gondor, Orc attacks had damaged the grand building that was Osgiliath's great library before they had been beaten back by Gondor's armies. The Steward and his two sons had arrived to inspect the damage.

When servants had denied the Steward's youngest son permission to explore the damaged library, an eleven year old Faramir seemed to meekly bow to their wishes. In reality, he had instantly sought out his brother.

"Boromir, have you been in a city that's been attacked before?" frowned Faramir, trying to look innocent.

A sixteen year old Boromir had recognised that glint in his brother's eyes.

"I will not help you get into the library, Faramir," Boromir had told him abruptly. "It's dangerous. The roof's damaged and it might fall at any moment."

Faramir looked embarressed at being found out. He looked away for a moment and Boromir allowed himself to relax.

"You've never seen a real battlefield, have you, Boromir?" asked Faramir, succeeding in looking innocent.

"No," admitted Boromir, puzzled.

"You've seen plenty of catapaults every day, haven't you?"

"Yes..."

"But you've never seen what they can do to a real building, have you?"

"Not exactly."

"Would you like to wait until the middle of a battle to find out... or do you want to find out now, when there are no orcs around?"

Boromir was rather proud of the fact that he withstood Faramir's reasoning for at least a full minute before caving in and agreeing to take Faramir into the library. If nothing else, Faramir certainly knew his brother's weaknesses.

The chance to gawk at actual damage and the actual boulders that had done it was impressive. Boromir was still using the things he'd learnt that day. The scolding his Father had given him later was a small price to pay.

The blame for the incident fell on Boromir's shoulders but the way their Father looked sideways at Faramir suggested that he knew who had started it. Boromir was worried that Faramir would be punished but he was spared that time. It was only a few years later that their Father would begin to publicly berate Faramir for any real or imagined error.

Still, at the time Faramir was young and couldn't be expected to understand the danger. Boromir, not only as a brother but as a soldier of Gondor, should have protected him better.

* * *

Boromir realised that he was standing in the corridor alone. The elf had left him, probably with a good number of muttered comments on the rudeness of men. Annoyed, Boromir shouldered his way into his room. He was intending to drop his sword and equipment in the room and then continue on to the gallery. He barely made it inside the door before he froze.

The room beyond was light and fresh, afternoon sunlight dancing on clean white wooden pillars. A large wooden bed was draped in pale yellow sheets with patterns of blue and green vines dancing along the edges. A breeze fluttered curtains by a balcony with a view of the trees in all their autumn glory. Boromir stood for a moment, taking in the view. The large bed was inviting enough to almost make Boromir regret his insistence on taking 'exercise'.

He knew, though, that if he did not go, somehow the elf would hear about it. The elf would hear about it and know that Boromir had been showing off. So Boromir sighed, dropped his belongings, and turned away. Boromir sacrificed his own comfort for the sake of his pride and nobody was there to watch.


End file.
